Dawn

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE LION

  Keith had not been home a week before it was seen that Hinsdale wasinclined to make a lion of the boy.

  Women brought him jelly and fruit, and men clapped him on the shoulderand said, "How are you, my boy?" in voices that were not quite steady.Young girls brought him flowers, and asked Susan if they could notread or sing or do SOMETHING to amuse him. Children stood about thegate and stared, talking in awe-struck whispers, happy if they couldcatch a glimpse of his face at the window.

  A part of this Susan succeeded in keeping from Keith--Susan had awell-founded belief that Keith would not care to be a lion. But agreat deal of it came to his knowledge, of course, in spite ofanything she could do. However, she told herself that she need nothave worried, for if Keith had recognized it for what it was, he madeno sign; and even Susan herself could find no fault with his behavior.He was cordial, cheery, almost gay, outwardly. But inwardly--

  Susan was still keeping her eyes on Keith.

  Mrs. McGuire came often to see Keith. She said she knew he would wantto hear John's letters. And there were all the old ones, besides thenew ones that came from time to time. She brought them all, and readthem to him. She talked about the young soldier, too, a great deal, tothe blind boy--She explained to Susan that she wanted to do everythingshe could to get him out of himself and interest him in the worldoutside; and that she didn't know any better way to do it than to tellhim of these brave soldiers who were doing something so really worthwhile in the world.

  "An' he's so interested--the dear boy!" she concluded, with a sigh."An' so brave! I think he's the bravest thing I ever saw, SusanBetts."

  "Yes, he is--brave," said Susan, a little shortly--so shortly thatMrs. McGuire opened her eyes a bit, and wondered why Susan's lips hadsnapped tight shut in that straight, hard line.

  "But what ails the woman?" she muttered to herself, vexedly, as shecrossed the back yard to her own door. "Wasn't she herself alwaysbraggin' about his bein' so brave? Humph! There's no such thing aspleasin' some folks, it seems!" finished Mrs. McGuire as she enteredher own door.

  But Mrs. McGuire was not the only frequent caller. There was MazieSanborn.

  Mazie began by coming every two or three days with flowers and fudge.Then she brought the latest novel one day and suggested that she readit to Keith.

  Susan was skeptical of this, even fearful. She had not forgottenKeith's frenzied avoidance of such callers in the old days. But to hersurprise now Keith welcomed Mazie joyously--so joyously that Susanbegan to suspect that behind the joyousness lay an eagerness towelcome anything that would help him to forget himself.

  She was the more suspicious of this during the days that followed, asshe saw this same nervous eagerness displayed every time any onecalled at the house. Susan's joy then at Keith's gracious response tovisitors' attentions changed to a vague uneasiness. Behind and beyondit all lay an intangible something upon which Susan could not placeher finger, but which filled her heart with distrust. And so still shekept her eyes on Keith.

  In June Dorothy Parkman came to Hinsdale. She came at once to seeSusan. But she would only step inside the hall, and she spoke low andhurriedly, looking fearfully toward the closed doors beyond thestairway.

  "I HAD to come--to see how he was," she began, a little breathlessly."And I wanted to ask you if you thought I could do any good or--or beany help to him, either as Miss Stewart or Dorothy Parkman. Only I--Isuppose I would HAVE to be Dorothy Parkman now. I couldn't keep theother up forever, of course. But I don't know how to tell--" Shestopped, and looked again fearfully toward the closed doors. "Susan,how--how IS he?" she finished unsteadily.

  "He's well--very well."

  "He sees people--Mazie says he sees everybody now."

  "Yes, oh, yes, he sees people."

  "That's why I thought perhaps he wouldn't mind ME now--I mean the realme," faltered the girl wistfully. "Maybe." Susan's sigh and frownexpressed doubt.

  "But he's real brave," challenged the girl quickly. "Mazie SAID hewas."

  "I know. Everybody says--he's brave." There was an odd constraint inSusan's voice, but the girl was too intent on her own problem tonotice it.

  "And that's why I hoped--about me, you know--that he wouldn't mind--now.And, of course, it can't make any difference--about his eyes, forhe doesn't need father, or--or any one now." Her voice broke. "Oh,Susan, I want to help, some way, if I can! WOULD he see me, do youthink?"

  "He ought to. He sees everybody else."

  "I know. Mazie says--"

  "Does Mazie know about you?" interrupted Susan. "I mean, about yourbeing 'Miss Stewart'?"

  "A little, but not much. I told her once that he 'most always calledme 'Miss Stewart,' but I never made anything of it, and I never toldher how much I saw of him out home. Some way, I--" She stopped short,with a quick indrawing of her breath. In the doorway down the hallstood Keith.

  "Susan, I thought I heard--WAS Miss Stewart here?" he demandedexcitedly.

  With only the briefest of hesitations and a half-despairing,half-relieved look into Susan's startled eyes, the young girl hurriedforward.

  "Indeed I'm here," she cried gayly, giving a warm clasp to his eagerlyoutstretched hand "How do you do? Susan was just saying--."

  But Susan was gone with upflung hands and a look that said "No, youdon't rake me into this thing, young lady!" as plainly as if she hadspoken the words themselves.

  In the living-room a minute later, Keith began eager questioning.

  "When did you come?"

  "Yesterday."

  "And you came to see me the very next day! Weren't you good? You knewhow I wanted to see you."

  "Oh, but I didn't," she laughed a little embarrassedly. "You're athome now, and you have all your old friends, and--"

  "But they're not you. There's not any one like you," cut in the youthfervently. "And now you're going to stay a long time, aren't you?"

  "Y-yes, several weeks, probably."

  "Good! And you'll come every day to see me?"

  "W-well, as to that-"

  "It's too much to ask, of course," broke off Keith contritely. "And,truly, I don't want to impose on you."

  "No, no, it isn't that," protested the girl quickly. "It's only--Thereare so many--"

  "But I told you there isn't anybody like you, Miss Stewart. Thereisn't any one here that UNDERSTANDS--like you. And it was you whofirst taught me to do--so many things." His voice faltered.

  "YOU'VE HELPED MORE--THAN YOU'LL EVER KNOW"]

  He paused, wet his lips, then plunged on hurriedly. "Miss Stewart, Idon't say this sort of thing very often. I never said it before--toanybody. But I want you to know that I understood and appreciated justwhat you were doing all those weeks for me out there at thesanatorium. And it was the WAY you did it, with never a word or a hintthat I was different. You did things, and you made me do things,without reminding me all the time that I was blind. I shall neverforget that first day when you told me dad would want to hear from me;and then, before I could say a word, you put that paper in my hands,and my fingers fell on those lines that I could feel. And how Iblessed you for not TELLING me those lines were there! Don't you see?Everybody here, that comes to see me, TELLS me--the lines are there."

  "Yes, I--know." The girl's voice was low, a little breathless.

  "And that's why I need you so much. If anybody in the whole world canmake me forget for a minute, you can. You will come?"

  "Why, of course, I'll come, and be glad to. You know I will. And I'mso glad if I've helped--any!"

  "You've helped more--than you'll ever know. But, come--look! I've gota dandy new game here." And Keith, very obviously to hide the shake inhis voice and the emotion in his face, turned gayly to a little standnear him and picked up a square cardboard box.

  Half an hour later, Dorothy Parkman, passing through the hall on herway to the outer door, was waylaid by Susan.

  "Sh-h! Don't speak here, but come with me," she whispered, leading theway through the diningr
oom. In the kitchen she stopped and turnedeagerly. "Well, did you tell him?" she demanded.

  Miss Dorothy shook her head, mutely, despairingly.

  "You mean he don't know yet that you're Dorothy Parkman?"

  "I mean just that."

  "But, child alive, he'll find out--he can't help finding out--now."

  "I know it. But I just couldn't tell him--I COULDN'T, Susan. I triedto do it two or three times. Indeed, I did. But the words justwouldn't come. And now I don't know when I can tell him."

  "But he was tickled to death to see you. He showed it, Miss Dorothy."

  "I know." A soft pink suffused the young girl's face. "But it was'Miss Stewart' he was glad to see, not Dorothy Parkman. And, after thethings he said--" She stopped and looked back over her shoulder towardthe room she had just left.

  "But, Miss Dorothy, don't you see? It'll be all right, now. You'veSHOWN him that you don't mind being with blind folks a mite. So now hewon't care a bit when he knows you are Dorothy Parkman."

  But the girl shook her head again.

  "Yes, I know. He might not mind that part, PERHAPS; but I know he'dmind the deceit all these long months, and it wouldn't be easy to--tomake him understand. He'd never forgive it--I know he wouldn't--tothink I'd taken advantage of his not being able to see."

  "Nonsense! Of course he would."

  "He wouldn't. You don't know. Just to-day he said something about--aboutsome one who had tried to deceive him in a little thing, becausehe was blind; and I could see how bitter he was."

  "But what ARE you goin' to do?"

  "I don't know, Susan. It's harder than ever now," almost moaned thegirl.

  "You're COMIN' AGAIN?"

  "Yes, oh, yes. I shall come as long as he'll let me. I know he wantsme to. I know I HAVE helped a little. He spoke--beautifully about thatto-day. But, whether, after he finds out--" Her voice choked intosilence and she turned her head quite away.

  "There, there, dear, don't you fret," Susan comforted her. "You jestgo home and think no more about it.

  When thinkin' won't mend it, Then thinkin' won't end it.

  So what's the use? When you get ready, you jest come again; an' youkeep a-comin', too. It'll all work out right. You see if it don't."

  "Thank you, Susan. Oh, I'll come as long as I can," sighed the girl,turning to go. "But I'm not so sure how it'll turn out," she finishedwith a wistful smile over her shoulder as she opened the door.